


Freedom

by MurielJones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Corruption, Elections, Gen, Politics, South Africa, Voting, afrikaaner boys, anc, democratic alliance, eff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:58:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurielJones/pseuds/MurielJones
Summary: Sam and Dean are afrikaaner boys who squabble their way to the voting booth on May 8th, you know, wed, they day when South Africans vote.





	Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> The writers may have done all shorts of shit I would never have this season (14) but the gift they gave us with all the worlds of Sam and Dean, and now they are all cannon—just another version for us to write. My Sam and Dean de jour are Afrikaaners boys living in South Africa, just outside Boshoff, just outside Bloemfontein which is sort of in the middle of the middle of nowhere (also where Tolkien was born.)
> 
> The election is coming up and they need to get out there and vote. May 8th, right? 
> 
> Unfortunately one can tell where I changed from thought out writing to "i will get this done". Sorry about that.

“Sam!” (It sounds like ‘Sem’, if I could only find the ‘e’ with a kappie on it I would have it right). Dean (sounds like ‘Dien’) barks out Sam’s name from behind him, where Sam is sitting reading a few days old copy of Die Beeld, because neither of them actually wanted to go back into town yesterday so this is going to have to do. The internet sucks again, their power might be guaranteed in the bunker, but power to the servers isn’t so sometimes they get great service and sometimes they get no service, and sometimes Eskom lets the servers know, and sometimes no one at Eskom bothers to switch the lights on let alone let Sam and Dean Winchester know when their internet service is going to be rerouted via Poffadder-sonder-water, so basically it won’t be on.

“You coming?” Dean is holding his ID card in his hand; yes its government issue, it might not exactly say ‘Dean Winchester’ but it’s the best he can do right now. 

“Huh?” Says Sam, because he pretty much had his head up his …. trying to decide if he was reading about yet another Tokolosh, which would be better sent on to a specialist; he doesn’t want to revisit that debacle, and you would think that Dean would have obtained some cultural sensitivity by now. Instead Dean seams to have obtained an ID card in the name of David Kramer.

“Yeah,” says Sam nabbing the old bar-code green id book that he’s had forever, so it says ‘Jon Selby’. Dean shakes his head, that should never have been allowed to happen.

“Early for you…” Sam pokes, they don’t usually rush into town let alone rush into town to vote first thing.

“Early voter gets to two votes.”

“That’s not true…” It’s out of Sam’s mouth before he realizes he has taken Dean’s bait.

“Your vote, my secreat.” Dean chants over his shoulder.

“My vote your choice.” Sam responds.

There is still something good about voting here; there isn’t much good in talking about voting with you family in the confined space of your car.

“Go DA,” Dean fist pumps unenthusiastically it just doesn’t should quite right. 

“Da? Since when do you vote elitist?”

Dean takes both his hands off the steering wheel. “Elitist? Me, Sam? Us?”

“Just you actually Dean, I’m voting eff.” 

“Oh, so you’re voting corruption then.”

Sam’s face is more and more pinched. “The eff has effective ways of changing the party from the inside.”

“The party? You may want to ask Cosatu about that.” 

They sit in silence for a few mins. 

Before Sam can even open his mouth, and he was about to, Dean, all big brother, snaps at him: “The eff says they stand against corruption and they support the ANC, the only people who support the ANC are the Guptas, and the eff and you apparently.”

Sam wants to tell Dean that he agreed to ride in a car with him, not to be hauled over the coals over his political beliefs while they drive in early to the poling station—you learn to expect long lines when you vote in the Free State. But its pointless. He is trying to so fucking hard to not even look at Dean to keep his eyes on the road, but he not going to let Dean get away with hijacking this car ride into a political exposition.

“You know what’s eletist Sam? You.” 

Now Sam is clashing his hands together, flexing his knuckles.

“You want the eff to take our land?”

Now Sam is puzzled, because it’s not exactly their land, at all, they squat due to what could be broadly described as ancestral rights but really is just good luck and some ancestral land grabbing, in a sweet place, with no title, no claim and no grounds to stay if anyone says they are to go—especially if someone shows up with a title.

“It’s not ours Dean.” Sam is looking down at his hands now, “that’s why I don’t want to get tangled up with the DA.”

“Sam. No one, and I do mean no one, is giving us, or anyone, land. But particularly us.” 

“The da promises more law enforcement Dean, less corrupt law enforcement, we don’t want that.” That, in Sam’s mind, could mean they get removed from their home if anyone comes and asks who owns the property.

Dean is looking straight ahead, hands at ten and two, his face is soft though.

“You really think that redistributing wealth to the poorest is ever going to happen?”

“They DA are so half.” Sam is tired, he’s tried of not having things, this having a home, its not real, it will slip through their fingers. “They promise one year of post highschool paid on the job trainng, that’s not really training, that using…”  
“It’s better than the nothing I got! I didn’t get a job, I didn’t get training and sure didn’t get paid!” Dean doesn’t just snap, he shouts, at Sam. “You got college, because you got lucky, because you…”

He doesn’t usually let Sam know just how much he resents some things, some of the privileges Sam has.

“A free education…” starts Sam.

“A free education isn’t going to happen, it just isn’t, and that’s just for…”

Everyone knows Dean’s not stupid, nothing like that, but it’s never quite said that the reason Dean didn’t get an education was Sam. Free university wouldn’t have helped Dean, a job, on the job training, that would have helped. Dean’s grip is tighter, because Sam called him elitist, and it’s Sam who can’t see a problem from the place of a working man.

“The DA is for everyone Sam. Not just do gooders and rebels…”

“Don’t” says Sam, “…do not call me a do gooder for wanting to get land away from Afrikaaners into the hands of the people who actually live there. You didn’t have to deal with white supremacists at university (perhaps Sam shouldn’t have gone to Potch) you didn’t have to deal with church going white supremacists calling you a “moffie” and spray painting your stuff and threatening your life…”

That all takes Dean by surprise; their family had done a lot to make sure Sam could go to University, and Sam had gone and done well, and apparently hated it. 

“So this revenge?”

“No, Dean, I’m just saying that those farmers aren’t all just innocent…”

“Now you sound like one of them.”

“Them who?”

Dean is exasperated. “The eff isn’t going to cover your queer white ass Sam.”

“Corrupt Sam, they are corrupt. No one is going to see anything they promise, at least they DA wants a job in every home not free money from the sky.”

“You just have a problem with the ‘land grab’ and Afrikaaner pride.”   
“I don’t know why you can’t let go of them trying to kill you? Everyone tries to kill you.” Dean is tapping fingers on the steering wheel. “You want to entrench us in this corruption for personal revenge?”

Sam is about to say something he just never really gets to formulate it, something about open boarders being a benefit to Southern Africa, and something about lifting those on the bottom won’t hurt those on the top, he never gets to because Dean explains the land act.

“They don’t want to give land to the people, the whole bill, the whole thing is for money laundering, you buy the land knowing you are going to sell it to the government for way more than it was worth, the rest is window dressing.”

It follows. Sam hates it, but it follows.

But we will never know which way Sam voted, because “your vote, your secret. My vote my choice.”


End file.
